Coalesce
by DustyGills
Summary: All John wants is for the shattered fragments of his life to meld back together. He doesn't want to be assigned to the perplexing Sylar case. He doesn't want to fall in love. And he certainly doesn't want the power blossoming within him. He just wants to go about his job with Dorian at his side, bug the shit out of Detective Paul and eat ramen. The universe doesn't seem to care.
1. Chapter 1

I was in the middle of writing another fic, then I saw this gif set on tumblr karlurbaninternational . tumblr post / 75956879236 and it demanded to be written.

This is actually the prologue, but as far as I know there isn't a prologue option, so... :P This takes place before the ambush!

**Warnings:** Some Sexual Content (if you want unedited, look for this on AO3), Violence, Dirty Language and (not main) Character Death.

**Parings: **John Kennex/Sylar, John & Dorian friendship, moments of past Anna/John

**Chapter One**

An insistent buzzing sound drilled its way confusedly into John's troubled dreams, drawing him mercifully from sleep. He blinked his eyes open, letting them adjust to the semi-darkness of the room. Anna was still sleeping at his side, oblivious to the noise. Her left arm was thrown casually across his stomach and her head rested on his chest, soft even breaths tickling his skin. For the first time ever, the feeling made him slightly nauseous.

Stretching out his arm carefully so as to avoid waking her, he snagged his cell off the bedside table. He noted with irritation that the call was anonymous and the time barely past five a.m. His alarm wasn't set to go off for another half-hour. For a moment he debated ignoring the call, then sighed unhappily. He disentangled himself from Anna as gently as possible and rolled out of bed, mumbling an apology when she stirred fitfully and opened her eyes.

"What time is it, baby?" she murmured sleepily, propping herself up on one elbow. Her long dark hair draped across her chest. One of her breasts had slipped free of her nightgown and he glanced away, ignoring his body's response.

"Five," he said groggily. "M'gonna make some coffee, okay? Got a call."

"Alright. Don't even think about trying to make breakfast though. I'll be up in a few minutes"

"I won't. I promise." He chuckled lightly in spite of everything as he padded down the hall to the kitchen. He accepted the call a second before it would have gone to voice mail. "Hello?" he asked tiredly, flipping on the light switch and blinking against the sudden flare.

"Am I speaking with John Kennex?" a strangely cultured voice queried politely.

"This is him," John said absently, pulling a container of coffee from the fridge and beginning to prepare it. Making coffee was one of the few things he was capable of achieving in the kitchen, thanks entirely to his expensive coffee maker.

"Very good. I do apologize for the early hour Mr. Kennex, but I wanted to catch you before you went to work. My name is Dr. Chandra Suresh."

John grimaced. "Is everything alright?" he asked instantly, thinking that inSyndicate must have been up to something again.

"More than fine, Mr. Kennex. I'm a geneticist and I've been working on a project concerning human genomes. I believe that you may play a vital role in the next stage of human evolution."

John's brows scrunched in consternation as he pressed the on switch and heard the coffee maker hum to life. He leaned back against the counter and ran a hand through his already sleep-tousled hair. The man was obviously attempting to sell something… or Martin was pranking him. "Really? How do you figure that?" he asked, smiling a little when he saw Anna pad down the hallway to the bathroom. Her nightgown had ridden up almost to her buttocks and she smiled slyly when she noticed his eyes tracing her bare skin.

"As to that, you'd have to read my book. It's called Activating Evolution. I would like to email you a free copy, if you'd be so kind as to give me your address." His voice sounded extremely hopeful.

John bit back a snort of laughter. Did the man think anyone in this age of rapidly advancing technology-let alone a detective- would hand over their email address to just anybody? "That depends," he played along pretending to seriously consider it. "What kind of evolution are we talking about here? I like myself just fine, thanks."

"If you'd read the book and then discuss it with me-"

Anna skittered into the kitchen then in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Even dressed casually and makeup-free she was so beautiful John completely forgot about Dr. Suresh for a moment. She stood lightly on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth before setting about making them breakfast. Her minty breath reminded him of his own funky breath and kissed her bare neck once before heading for the bathroom.

It can't be true. It can't. Please, God.

"-uman flight. Even cellular regeneration!" Suresh was gushing passionately into his ear.

"What about cellular regeneration?" John asked distractedly, perching himself on the lip of the bathtub.

Realizing that his audience had been less than captivated, the excitement bled out of the man's voice so rapidly that John almost felt guilty. "I was saying that you may be one amongst thousands of individuals with the potential for any number of incredible abilities. It may be flight. Precognition. Cellular regeneration. Or perhaps something entirely different. I believe the traits that manifest themselves will vary depending on each individual's genetic code."

"Mmm, and how do I obtain my ability, Dr. Suresh? Do you have a special pill? A magic injection?"

"Don't be absurd." There was a bite of impatience in the man's voice now. "If you have an ability it currently resides dormant within you, just waiting to be discovered. I can help you do that. All I'd need to do is take a blood sample and scan your brainwaves-"

The smell of frying potatoes wafted in through the open bathroom door, causing John's stomach to rumble embarrassingly loudly. "I'm not interested in whatever you're trying to sell me, Dr. Suresh," he interrupted. "I'm sorry." He hung up with relief and promptly blocked the number. Yet as he brushed his teeth and shaved something niggled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach that felt a lot like apprehension.

"Who was on the phone, sweetheart?" Anna inquired when he came back to the kitchen. Though she spoke casually, she watched him closely. "Do you have to go into work early?"

"No, it was just a telemarketer." John grabbed a knife from a drawer, grabbed a couple oranges from the fruit bowl and began slicing them into eighths simply for something to do. The smell always reminded him of his father.

Anna snatched a slice from the table and ate it slowly while waiting for the potatoes to finish, the hand holding the spatula resting on her cocked hip. "What were they selling?"

John snorted. "Super powers, I guess."

"Super powers, huh?"

He stopped cutting the oranges and looked at her, something in her voice giving him pause. "Yeah. Some guy pretending to be a geneticist. A Dr. Suresh." He got that wriggling uncomfortable feeling in his gut again. He resumed his task, concentrating on it determinedly

"I studied genomics when I was in school," Anna said musingly. "Loved it." She shifted the potatoes aside and cracked some eggs into the griddle too.

"That sounds awful, to be honest." John smiled as the tension between them dissipated slightly. "Maybe he should have tried giving you his book instead of me."

"What's it called?"

John cocked an eyebrow at her, wondering if her interest was feigned. "Activating Evolution, I think he said."

"Maybe you should read it," she suggested suddenly.

John tried to look at her face but she'd already turned back to the stove. "Why?" he asked, surprised.

"Because we'd have something new to talk about," she teased, turning back to him and kissing his temple.

"I have too much on my plate right now," he said, getting up to wash the stickiness from his hands. "Maybe after we've take down inSyndicate, I'll have more time for reading." John carefully avoided her eyes after that statement, paranoia sweeping through him suddenly. He wondered if he was reading too much into things.

Before he could become entangled in his own thoughts and suspicions, breakfast was ready. The strange call and Anna's inexplicably unsettling behavior over the past few weeks were temporarily forgotten in light of a good meal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **This takes place some time after Straw Man.

**Warnings:** Some Sexual Content (if you want unedited, look for this on AO3), Violence, Dirty Language and (not main) Character Death.

**Parings: **John Kennex/Sylar, John & Dorian friendship, moments of past Anna/John

**Chapter Two**

The water drummed deafeningly loudly over John's head, drowning out all sounds and thoughts that didn't pertain to the constant drone of it. He leaned further into the spray from his place on the shower bench after soaping up his hair.

Eventually his eyelids fluttered open to watch the last suds of his shampoo swirl down the drain in an endless circular motion. He tracked the water's progress as if hypnotized.

Wetness trickled into his eyes but it didn't sting and he didn't attempt to blink it away or shake his sodden bangs from his forehead. Instead, his upper lip curled in an unconscious grimace and his eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

A breathless moment later something indefinable within John shifted; seemed to click into place. The water, which had been running clockwise, suddenly began twisting smoothly counter-clockwise.

The difference was scarcely perceptible, but John gasped harshly and jerked his head back as though pulling free from a trance. The movement caused him to slip sideways off his bench. His shoulder slammed hard against the slick tiles as he caught himself on the steel grab bar, his other hand clapping to the sliding glass door as his left leg scrambled to compensate for his missing right.

When he'd successfully hauled himself back into place he caught his breath and glanced down again. The water was flowing clockwise once more. Unease stirred in his chest and bile rose in his throat. He upchucked painfully down the drain, scrubbing his chin roughly with the back of his hand when he was finished.

He waited until he was entirely sure he was stable before stumbling from the shower. He sat heavily on the closed toilet seat and toweled himself dry quickly. His heart was beating much too rapidly in response to something that had probably been a trick of the light. His temples throbbed achingly in time with its staccato beats. Whether the pain stemmed from panic or his fierce concentration, he couldn't tell.

Shuddering hard one last time, he reached for his synthetic leg and snapped it into place with precision. He got up -frowning at the harshsqueak that issued from his newish leg- and walked to the sink, hands reaching out to frame the bowl. He gazed at himself in the mirror for an interminable moment, searching for the change; the catalyst that was rearranging everything he thought he'd known about himself.

He didn't appear any different on the outside. Same hair, eyes and worry lines. But ever since the damned eclipse that took place several months ago, he'd felt oddly off-kilter, shaky. He'd suddenly become a stranger in his own skin.

John shrugged off the bizarre, dark mood as he dressed and grabbed his keys, intent on going to Rudy's and picking Dorian up early. The thought of waiting around his apartment with only his thoughts for company was becoming more and more unappealing with every passing second.

He would be alright again in a few weeks, he reassured himself. Everything would be just fine. This was only a rough patch. "I'm gonna be alright," he said aloud as he set his lock-code.

"About fucking time," John murmured under his breath as Rudy's car pulled up to the curb and Dorian stepped out, exchanging a few more words before he spotted John leaning on the precinct wall and ambled over to him.

"You're early today," Dorian stated, watching him carefully.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," John said gruffly, sipping at his fifth cup of coffee as he pushed off and headed for the main doors. Dorian followed at his heels like the faithful golden retriever John had never had.

"I was having breakfast with Rudy and you just had to show up early for once and ruin it," Dorian complained mildly.

That explained why they hadn't been at Rudy's place when John had stopped by. "You don't eat," he said inanely. "Come on, we've got to interrogate Tatlock."

He wanted to get that over with as soon as possible. The man was hands down the stupidest criminal John had ever caught; one who took obnoxious pride in having helped dupe old ladies into buying industrial sized bottles of "age-defying" night cream as an alternative to invasive cosmetic surgery. Said cream -after several applications- tightened the skin so much that the consumers features were practically cemented in place. Also, Tatlock's vocabulary appeared to consist of around twenty words at best, with the phrase "fuckn-a" in heavy rotation.

"Couldn't sleep last night?" Dorian insisted.

"No," he grumbled. "I slept just fine, thanks." It was the truth but it sounded way too much like a lie. "Why does it matter?"

As they entered the squad room John smiled automatically and nodded to Valerie. She was too good for me anyway, he told himself for the millionth time. Still, his stomach dropped with slow-fading disappointment.

"It doesn't really matter. I'm just curious." Dorian stood with his hands clasped behind his back and an inquisitive smile quirking his lips as John seated himself at his desk. He looked the very definition of attentive, but John saw the sparkle in those blue eyes that always appeared when Dorian was finding him extremely easy to antagonize.

"Listen. You complain when I'm late, and now you're upset that I'm early. I can't win," he complained as he retrieved the information on Tatlock from the server and brought it up on his tablet.

"I'm not the least bit upset, John; you are. You're tense. And you've had way too much caffeine. You're hands are shaking slightly."

"Don't even think about scanning me," John groused, jabbing his forefinger warningly at Dorian.

Dorian ignored him. "Maybe you shouldn't be early or late. Why not try coming into work on time for once? That would be beneficial for both of us."

"Hey, I could be on time if I wanted to. But I have a social life to maintain," he lied.

"Really? You'll have to clue me in on it sometime. Your dating profile has been inactive since I made it."

John worked not to smile at Dorian's mock offended tone and got to his feet, tapping him lightly on the shoulder with his tablet. "Come on, lets find out who this guy was working with. There's no way he was acting alone."

"We can agree on that. He has the intelligence of a malfunctioning MX," Dorian said with faint distaste.

"Kennex. Dorian."

They both stopped abruptly at the sound of Maldonado's voice cracking sharply through the low hum of conversation in the squad room. She was beckoning them from her office door, looking practically ruffled.  
"You must be in trouble," John jested to Dorian from the corner of his mouth.

Maldonado didn't bother inviting them inside. "You're off the Tatlock case," she told them, barreling on before John could protest. "There was a homicide in one of the apartments off district 11. It's a weird one. I've already transferred Tatlock to Detective Paul."

An uncontrollable grin spread across John's face at the news. "Ah, that's just awful. I was looking forward to interviewing Tatlock again."

"Yes. A most verbose young man. A pity we won't have the chance to pick his brain some more," Dorian agreed. John envied his poker face.

Maldonado raised an eyebrow at them, though she looked like she'd rather have rolled her eyes. "Just get over there and keep me posted. The crime scene's already been cordoned off," she told them before returning to her office.

"I've downloaded the location," Dorian said as they left the precinct together. "I can send it to your GPS if you prefer."

"What for?" John asked. "I've already got you. Just don't get us lost, sparky."

"I hate when you call me that."

"That's what makes it so appealing," he shot back, spirits miraculously lifted.

Dorian simply shook his head at the sudden upswing in John's mood, looking perplexed. John ignored the worry in his eyes. There were more important things to focus on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings:** Some Sexual Content (if you want unedited, look for this on AO3), Violence, Dirty Language and (not main) Character Death.

**Parings: **John Kennex/Sylar, John & Dorian friendship, moments of past Anna/John

**Chapter Three**

Sunlight filtered softly through the windows, giving the otherwise standard apartment kitchen an ethereal glow. A crystal dangled before one of them, casting refracting chips of brilliant color upon the yellow walls and cream-white floors. Well... mostly white now.

Bianca Karina's body was sprawled face-down upon the floor, limbs twisted at odd angles. A dark mass of drying of blood enveloped the tiles under and around her. It had succeeded in seeping into the crevices between the tiles, creating the startling effect of argyle veins branching out from her inanimate body. Her hands were clenched into tiny white-knuckled fists, glassy blue eyes wide with terror, mouth open in a silent scream. Her nightgown had rucked up her back in the fall, exposing her from the waist down and the bottom notches of her spine.

The top of her head had been removed and dropped carelessly to the side, clumps of long, dark hair matted with blood clinging to it. Only a minimal amount of brain tissue remained within the skull, framed by more blood-matted hair. It looked obscene -almost pornographically so- against the scrupulously clean room.

There was a full pot of coffee sitting untouched on the counter and an unused pan on the stove. Judging by that and the tacky quality of the blood, she must have been murdered at around five am.

John tore his eyes away from the carnage with difficulty, his previously upbeat mood entirely evaporated in the face of such grotesque violence. The fact that she looked like she was hardly out of her teens made it extremely difficult to detach from the crime and John caught himself grinding his teeth.

He stood from his kneeling position beside the body, synthetic leg giving an unpleasant screech at the motion. He silently cursed himself for leaving in such a rush earlier that he'd neglected to oil it.

Dorian stood on the other side of the kitchen by the window. His blue processing lights were still flashing. Growing tired of waiting passively for him to finish gathering information, John stepped carefully around the body and leaned against the counter by Dorian's side. An unconscious grimace tugged at his features as he surveyed the crime scene from a new angle.

The entire apartment had already been dusted for prints and DNA samples. All potentially useful items had been bagged and tagged. The only person still there aside from themselves was a guy from the coroner's office, chewing placidly on his gum in the living room as he waited to collect the body. Two MX's waited passively behind him, staring blankly into space.

"Can you determine what instrument was used to do this?" John asked Dorian quietly, folding his arms across his chest and nodding towards the body. "A laser of some kind?"

Dorian frowned. "Definitely not a laser. There would be scorch marks and the hair would be singed. Honestly, I just don't know." When Dorian looked stumped, John knew things were bad.

"I hope the pathologist can hypothesize something useful."

"She definitely died while her head was being incised," Dorian added, sounding almost defensive. "There's no bruising around her neck and her skull doesn't appear to have been fractured by any kind of blunt object."

John had noticed that too, but his stomach turned at hearing his thoughts confirmed. The extra coffee was making him jittery. "This was done pre-mortem?" he asked mostly to himself, outraged by the brutality of it. His left foot tapped an irregular beat on the floor.

"I'm almost positive, John."

"Jesus," he hissed, running a hand over his face in agitation. "Did you find anything on her?"

"Lots."

John raised his eyebrows. "Care to share it with me?" He failed at keeping the bite from his tone. "I'd really like to know."

Dorian's eyes darted to the living room to make sure the coroner wasn't eavesdropping and he lowered his voice. "She was born January twenty-fifth, two-thousand-twenty-six. She's from Missouri, but moved here two years ago. She began attending the county college after obtaining her GED, but dropped out over three months ago after an alleged suicide attempt. Said incident was reported by her roommate. During that time she also quit her job as a waitress. Since then she's been living here. Her parents co-signed the lease."

"Any more info on that suicide attempt?"

"None whatsoever." Dorian frowned, face lighting up again. "A short report was filed but it's extremely vague. The police weren't sure if it was a genuine attempt _or_ if her roommate simply overreacted. Karina never underwent a psychiatric evaluation in connection to it."

"Then we might never know if it's somehow linked to her death," John muttered as his mind ran through the catalog of typical homicide motivations such as 'pissed off ex-boy/girlfriend' and 'possible enemies'. Chances were neither would be correct.

"Would you like to interview the neighbors now?" Dorian inquired after a slight pause.

"Yeah. I think we've already done all we can here. Send in a report to Maldonado. I'd like a long list of names and numbers by the time we get back. _And_ an incident room."

"Already done. It's gonna be a long day, man."

"Well, just think how great tomorrow's gonna be. We get to see Dr. Foster!" He nudged Dorian's shoulder on the way out of the kitchen, peeling off his latex gloves. They were still clean as he hadn't had the stomach for picking up the oval shard of Karina's skull and examining it.

"That man hates me. Even more than you did when we first met."

"Don't take it personally, he hates all synthetics. He likes you more than the MX's though." He nodded a silent affirmative at the coroner.

"That's a great comfort, John. Thank you."

Their fleeting attempt at lightening the mood fell embarrassingly flat, but neither of them mentioned it.

**ooo**

Sylar knew it was dangerous. Reckless and stupid to an irrational degree. But he was drawn by a desire as strong and toxic as the hunger that consumed him. He stood smack in the middle of a throng of people across the street from the slight commotion the police were engendering simply by their presence. He was far enough back as to go undetected by the officers, yet close enough to get a clear image of the goings-on. They were like tiny ants under his magnifying glass and they didn't even realize it. How malleable and disposable they were.

They stood in small clumps talking softly and worriedly to one another, attempting to understand the means behind what they considered to be a senseless act of atrocious violence. Sylar knew that in approximately ten minutes (perhaps less) they would discover three other murders and conclude that the notorious "serial killer" from New York was playing in their backyard. He wondered, with a twinge of deep-seated annoyance, if they would assume it was the work of a copycat.

They needn't worry for long however. There were only three people left in the city that were on the list he'd taken from Chandra. Three more deaths and he'd be gone again. Maybe not forever, but for long enough that they'd be lulled back into the tedious mundanity of their daily lives.

When the coroner's MXs finally wheeled the gurney out of the front door, body zipped carefully inside a black bag like a shroud, something inside of Sylar flinched minutely. The part of his consciousness that was still inhabited by sweet, unassuming Gabriel Gray. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to protect his neck from the cold.

_You're special_, Gabriel, his mother's voice whispered in his ear, her constant mantra. _More than anyone can see. But one day you'll show them all. Everyone will know how special my boy is._

The words brought him a level of comfort and assurance that they never had while he was just Gabriel. This was his destiny. His evolutionary prerogative. He didn't have a choice.

It was almost noon by then and he was growing bored. He was about to turn away from the scene, go back to his hotel and try to gather intel on the remaining people on the list, when two detectives left the building. Interest renewed, he remained in place. In the lead was a dark-skinned man that looked vaguely familiar. Sylar thought he might be a synthetic. The other was...

Sylar's hands balled into fists and he forced himself not to flinch backwards and cross himself. He sucked in a now unnecessary breath of air and held it, eyes wide with shock as he studied the man. Unfortunately the distance was too great for Sylar to discern much about his current appearance.

Chandra had told him long ago, with the deepest regret coloring his voice, that John Kennex was in a coma. Since boarding the shuttle from Queens, vague plans had been forming in Sylar's mind of discovering which hospital he was at; taking care of him last. Kennex wouldn't even have felt it.

Paranoia swept through him as he watched Kennex and the synthetic speak briefly with the EMTs then make a beeline for their cruiser. Sylar's confidence and superiority faded as he waited tensely for the inevitable. For Kennex to glance up and notice him, sense his presence. Know him for what he was.

It didn't happen.

They drove off without so much as a hard look at the dispersing, chattering spectators; deep in conversation. His eyes followed the cruiser until it was out of sight.

Afterwards Sylar departed with everyone else; a shrewd wolf lost amongst the witless sheep. He turned down a random side-street, zig-zagging through the crowd, subtly using telekinesis to avoid bumping into anyone. It was best to go undetected for now.

Self-directed anger and fear of divine retribution warred sickeningly within him. It had been an enormous oversight on his part to have neglected researching Kennex before coming out here.

_This can't be coincidence_, he told himself firmly. That Kennex had woken miraculously from his coma and just happened to now be investigating Sylar's most recent victim? Considering the events Sylar had experienced, witnessed and precipitated over the last three months, coincidence seemed laughably unlikely.

He blocked his mother's unintelligible, manic ramblings from his mind determinedly, focusing instead on his own self-assuredness. Assurance that stemmed from newfound knowledge of the workings of human nature and the universe. Things only he could comprehend.

No. It couldn't be mere happenstance, he deduced. It had to be fate.


End file.
